A Ponyville bar was a bar in Ponyville. You took the either two ends, smushed them together, and wound up with something not particularly satisfying when viewed from any direction.

A proper bar had a name, a neighbourhood, and a reputation.

Rarity's dive of choice was called The Dirty Muzzle, and you can take it up with local residential zoning if you think the name is immediately evocative or suggestive. The owner(s) of The Dirty Muzzle argue any resemblance to a known phrase or slang representing acts related directly or indirectly to sexual behaviour are purely coincidental. In short, you can't prove anything.

Another facet: you had to know when to show up. You couldn't just walk in at half-past one on a Tuesday afternoon and expect to get the same experience. Rarity knew for a fact that one of the cooks who was only there on the weekend had a fryer all to himself, and the grease hadn't be cleaned or the oil emptied since the bar opened five years ago. Then there were the bartenders—Rarity had committed their shifts to memory, which wasn't difficult, as there was a small network of about five or six employees who seemed to rotate through various duties on a semi-weekly basis. Rarity was good with names anyway, so it had only taken around a month for her to get familiar enough to walk in and have her 'usual' ready before she'd even placed an order. That was just one of the perks of social know-how.

One of the other perks was that, if you played your cards right, there was a lot more to see beneath the surface of a grimy wooden countertop than first appeared to be there. Rarity had noticed a V.I.P. section, for example, that seemed to be perpetually unoccupied. A private store of 'reserve' spirits that the owner(s) only broke out in the wee hours when they were sure anypony of consequence had gone home. The more than occasional 'misplacing' of bits from the cash-register and liquors from the back-shelf that everypony who worked there seemed to participate in. Rarity imagined she could have written a wonderful story about the place, if she'd been in the habit of storytelling. More 'story-making', than anything else.

It was just shy of midnight when Rarity showed up. She gave a smile to the barkeep, a gruff looking pegasus with a shaved mane and a cutie mark of a salt-lick. He didn't smile back, but Rarity took no offense—she wasn't sure she'd ever seen his teeth before, unless he was growling at something.

And there was her drink, waiting for her, a cosmopolitan with pomegranate juice instead of cranberry. She liked the little bite of the alcohol buried underneath the fruity fragrance, the way it nipped like bits of fire at the back of her nose and throat. Warmed up her chest, and made her feel ready, and just full-enough of herself to last the evening out socializing. Even with ponies who were 'less-accustomed' to proper social introductions and procedures. Rarity considered herself a sort of amateur-anthropologist.

Even still, there was the negotiation to play out. Rarity had to pull one end of the invisible string, and somepony on the other end of the line would pull the other.

Rarity took a sip of her drink and leaned over the bar a little, looking at the gruff pegasus, who was polishing a grimy-looking glass without much success. The pegasus eyed her back, and grunted, but said nothing further.

Rarity smiled at him.

"And how are things on your end of the fence, Turn-Key?"

"Same shit, different pile," he said. The rag he was using to clean glasses looked like it had been bought at the bar's opening, and had been made to do double duty as the barkeep's personal handkerchief.

Rarity pulled the tiny fruit-skewer out of her drink and gently bit off a piece of pineapple at the end. She smiled as she chewed, and let out a soft sigh.

"Well, I suppose that's to be expected, as a matter of perspective," Rarity said. She took another sip of her drink. Only a few other ponies were present, mostly congregating in the dimly-lit tables at the back and coughing as they shared drags in the smoking section.

"Mhm." Turn-Key put down his glass and rag. "You need something? Another drink? I'll get one of the fillies to do that girly one you like..."

"Oh, no, I'm perfectly alright for now, thank you," Rarity said, batting her eyelashes sweetly. "Though, now that you mention it, I had overheard there might be a presentation of the local antique ballistics society, presenting their collections to the viewing public. At this location, as a matter of fact."

Turn-Key blinked, blank-faced.

"Huh?"

"Oh, you know," Rarity went on, leaning even further over the counter, so close she could smell the week-long shift coming off Turn-Key's coat. "That small group native to Ponyville which demonstrates their store of antiquated fire-arms and other warfare devices."

Turn-Key blinked again.

"What?"

Rarity let out a long, dejected sigh.

"The gun show, my dear. I'm looking for tickets. Can you help a filly out?"

Turn-Key shifted his eyes from side to side.

"Maybe. What's the secret code?"

"I'll pay you a small handling fee, but you must go fetch your supervisor directly, and as soon as the purchase is complete, you'll receive your gratuity."

"My 'supervisor'?" Turn-Key asked, eyebrow raised.

Rarity sighed again.

"Your boss. Please go get him. We've met many times before."

"Oh, right." Turn-Key scratched his head. Now that Rarity mentioned it, he was pretty sure he'd seen her in here before, at least once last week... and the week before that, and the week before that...

Huh. Maybe he should stop drinking hourly when he was on-shift.

"Be right back," Turn-Key said. He sauntered off around the back of the bar, to the hidden 'employees-only' infrastructure that Rarity had it on authority mostly just consisted of the kitchen, a bathroom, and the boss's office which he refused to let anypony else sit in during their shift. No breakroom. Sit when you get home. Etcetera.

There he was. The boss. 'Big Show', as he preferred to be called. Rarity had taken a few tries to say it without giggling.

"M'aa'm," he said, doffing an imaginary hat in Rarity's direction. He was... okay, he was tiny. Practically colt-sized. A miniature earth-pony with a gun-shaped cutie-mark. But Rarity didn't judge based on height, or weight, or any of the other character sheet statistics marginally separating her soul from somepony else's. Big things come in small packages, after all.

"Mr. Big," Rarity replied, nodding her head and smiling.

Big Show giggled in spite of himself. He couldn't help it. He loved that nickname.

"I trust you're here for the... nightly entertainment?" The little pony leaned over the counter and winked suggestively at her.

Rarity ignored the wink out of courtesy.

"I wouldn't miss an installment... though, there was that nasty period where city legislation seemed content to interfere with the proceedings on the basis of 'ensuring safe and legal entertainment'. Pish-tosh. Who doesn't like a little thrill of danger along with their watching experience, hmm?"

"You were here last week when that unicorn got his eyeballs squished, right?"

Rarity smiled devilishly, and downed the last of her drink.

"My dear, I was front and center. I believe I still have one of the eyeballs at home."

Big Show's grin was almost as big as his face.

"Now that's a true fan! Just follow me to my office and we can complete our... 'transaction'. Heh heh heh."

Rarity wondered if she should tell the fellow his creepy-sounding apostrophes weren't technically accurate, but decided against it. Better to let him believe for his own sake, like a little puppy that was certain it had caught a real fox instead of a sock stuffed to look like one.

Nopony noticed the pair of them slip away. But the back-room past the office was much more substantial than the remainder of the employee area. Rarity had seen it many times, from the long, austere hallway to the sound-proof, boarded up gymnasium that appeared abandoned and forgotten until you cracked the door and heard the sound of a thousand blood-hungry spectators cheering for the next match.

It was in the air. Sweat, blood, ponies grinding each other against their friction and willpower until only one remained standing.

Rarity sighed. She was already a little wet, and the show hadn't even started yet.